


Poor Unfortunate Stiles

by goddammitamy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Original Female Character - Freeform, Witchcraft, Witches, abuse of Disney movie references, abuse of netflix watching, derek actually speaks in this, mostly cause Stiles can't., poorly written/understanding medical things, possible out of character moments, takes place before season 3, there's an attempt at emotions?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitamy/pseuds/goddammitamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll have your looks, your pretty face, and don’t underestimate the importance of body language – ha! The men up there don’t like a lot of blabber. They think a girl who gossips is a bore. Yes, on land it’s much preferred for ladies not to say a word and after all, dear, what is idle prattle for?”</p><p>Or, the one where Stiles gets in the way of a witch and gets hexed to where he can't speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor Unfortunate Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I lost my voice over Spring Break last year and decided it was funny enough to write something about it. Anyways, medical stuff credit goes to my friend Karen because she's a nurse, credit for dealing with my ramblings goes to Tabi and Tegan. And a huge thank you goes to Cat for the beta. Thanks y'all. 
> 
> Also, if anything runs together or anything, it's my fault. I think I formatted this correctly, but one can never be completely sure. 
> 
> Title and Summary obviously come from The Little Mermaid.

Stiles knows that they’re fucked the minute he gets out of his car.

Well, actually, he knew the minute he got a text from Derek that told him to meet him at the Beacon Hills Preserve thirty minutes prior to showing up. He just hadn’t said anything when he parked because he was too busy being irritated that he had to interrupt his Friday night plans of playing video games by himself.

“Okay, I’m here. What?” he asks as he gets out of his car. Derek is standing on the porch, hands in his pockets, waiting. Stiles start grumbles as he walks towards the house.

“Took you long enough,” Derek says. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You know, I don’t have to be here. I’m here because – honestly. I don’t even know why I’m here. I think it’s because I have some stupid death wish and I feel like I have to be part of everything I’m invited to. Especially since I don’t get invited to things ever, so – “

“We’re going this way,” Derek cuts him off and starts heading off the porch. He jumps off the porch and passes Stiles in the yard in a few quick strides. Stiles pivots on his toe and starts to follow Derek into the woods.

“So, what’re we hunting tonight?” Stiles asks when he’s close enough, jogging almost to keep up with Derek’s longer strides.

“Shut up.”

“No, really. What’re we hunting? Ghosts? Ghouls? Wendigos?”

“Witch – just one.”

“A witch in the forest, huh?” Stiles resists the urge to make an actual witch hunt joke. “Is there a candy house for us to eat, too?”

“No. Shut up, Stiles.” Derek doesn’t look at him this time; instead he just kind of walks faster, leaving Stiles behind a few paces. He knows he’s irritated him – the guy is just oozing irritability and annoyance, but that’s normal. Stiles still notices these things, though. Someone has to.

Anyways, witches, huh? Strike that. Witch – singular. They’re on an actual witch hunt through the woods. Stiles feels like he’s a bit underdressed – he needs a torch and a pitchfork. Also, are witches real?

Stiles blinks. “So, there are witches, werewolves, kanimas, hunters – are you sure vampires _aren’t_ a thing? Because there’s evidence of everything else existing, why not vampires? And Derek, just ‘cause you haven’t seen one doesn’t make it false because, yeah, hi, you’re a freaking _werewolf_ and, like, a year ago I thought the closest thing to werewolves we had in reality was Hugh Jackman and those really bad werewolf movies that Hollywood keeps pumping out every few years.” Derek stops walking and turns and glares at Stiles.

“What part of ‘ _shut up’_ do you not understand?”

“The _up_ part, actually,” Stiles says without thinking. “I mean, how does one shut _up_? I get the shut part, but mouths are horizontal, so it can’t really go up nor can they move, so _up?_   Why not just – “ Derek backs Stiles into a tree and points a finger in Stiles’ face.

“If you do not stop talking in the next second and a half I will _kill you_.” His eyes are red and he’s got his fangs bared. Stiles gulps.

“Yeah, okay, sorry.” Derek steps away from the tree and pops his neck. They keep walking, Stiles following a few paces behind.

Derek is silent while they walk through the leaves. Stiles crunches noisily behind him. He’s also breathing heavily through his mouth, which, even though he’s not speaking, is still open.

The loud crunch of a twig snapping in two under Stiles’ shoe is the final straw. “Is there any way you can be quiet at all? I mean, Jesus, you’re louder than a bull in a china shop.”

“I think the saying goes _clumsier_ than a bull in a china shop,” Stiles deadpans. “And, I’m – I’m sorry. If you wanted a completely silent military operation, you should’ve called one of your puppies out here with you. Or, you know, a Navy SEAL.”

“I couldn’t have called one of them. I called you for a reason.”

“Why? To point out how lonely we are on Friday nights?”

“No, because my pack tends to make impulsive decisions based on their emotions. I needed someone who could think quick on their feet. Who better than to have someone who is impulsive all the time – “

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t think anything of it. Just, if this starts to go badly, I want you to find shelter and shut up. I don’t need any more cops looking for me on _another_ false murder charge.”

“Who said I was going to be the one that dies?” Derek arches a brow at him. “I’m serious! Why does everyone assume that I’m the one that dies? Just ‘cause I’m human? I’ll have you know that I can take care of myself. And, also, I seem to remember my human ass saving you a few times, Mr. Alpha.” Derek’s amused look hardens and he huffs out a sigh.

“Just stay close to me and, for the love of God, stay quiet.” Stiles sighs and nods. “I mean it, Stiles.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” He mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and then pretends to throw away a key. Derek rolls his eyes and they continue on.

They walk what feels like another mile before Stiles can see more than just silvery moonlight through the treetops. Orange light dances through the trees from a clearing up ahead, like the light of a campfire. It’s kind of chilly out tonight – he feels drawn to it. He goes to take a step towards the clearing, but Derek reaches out and grabs the back of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles stops, staggers, and turns to look at Derek, brows furrowed in confusion. Derek points at Stiles and then at the ground and mouths “Stay.” Stiles shakes his head. Derek’s eyes flash red and he growls. Stiles huffs and nods, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek walks towards the clearing, not looking back to see if Stiles is staying put.

Which, haha, who’s he kidding? Stiles isn’t staying put anywhere.

He doesn’t follow into the clearing, but he does move closer. And he certainly doesn’t trip over his own shoe and land on his stomach with an ‘ _oof_ ’ and knock the wind out of himself. When he can breathe again, he crawls on his belly until he’s nearly on top of a fallen log and hides behind that. He can kind of see what’s going on, but not a whole lot is happening.

-

Derek stands on the edge of the clearing, watching as a girl sits behind the fire, reading a book. She looks up from the book and jumps when she notices Derek.

“You scared me! Geeze!” She throws a hand to her chest, trying to calm down. “You shouldn’t just sneak up on people!”

Derek furrows his brows in confusion. Some witch hunt this was turning out to be. She looks completely normal, i.e., harmless – she’s wearing a cardigan, dress, and tights for god’s sake. Why does he smell a witch? This girl looks like she’s probably in Stiles’ and Scott’s class.

“You can’t be here – this is private property,” Derek says cautiously. She blushes and looks guiltily at her lap.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I – I didn’t realize that it _was_.”

Derek blinks. “Yeah, there’s a sign posted, actually.” He’s confused, still trying to figure out where that smell is coming from. Her heartbeat is steady, other than the jump from earlier when he scared her. She looks normal, too, though that doesn’t mean anything. Still, it smells like ozone, like someone’s just used magic.

“I’m so sorry,” she stands up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel so dumb. I can’t believe I did this. I –“

Derek nods, still confused. She’s smiling sweetly at him. _What the hell…?_ “Would you please walk me to my car? It was still light out when I came out here and I’m scared I’ll get lost.” He nods again.

“Sure,” he turns, still confused, and starts looking for Stiles in the trees. He’s got his back to her, so he literally doesn’t see her coming. He gets a quick whiff of ozone before he’s knocked out and hits the ground with a thump.

-

Stiles is still blinking, mouth agape, watching the girl as she smiles triumphantly at Derek on the ground. She’d mouthed some words and waved her hands around each other before she gently pushed a small ball of white light towards Derek and he’d hit the ground. Stiles is rooted to the spot for a good moment, staring in shock, before he jumps up and runs into the clearing. He’s supposed to be Derek’s back up, right? Ooops.

“Derek!” he calls out, running over to check on him. He touches his back where he saw the light ball hit and he’s fine, and then he checks his pulse at his neck – it’s also fine, still strong and steady – he’s just knocked out. “Oh, thank god, you’re not dead. Oh god.” He sighs towards his chest before he starts to roll Derek over so he doesn’t inhale any leaves or anything.

“Stiles?” He looks up at the witch girl slowly and nearly does a double-take.

“Abigail?” the girl nods, like she’s proud he recognizes her. And why shouldn’t he? They’ve been in the same class since the third grade – he went to her tenth birthday party. They were lab partners their freshman year of high school. Besides, she’s the only other girl at their school who has strawberry-blonde hair besides Lydia. And he knows for a fact that Abigail is more than kind of touchy when people think she’s Lydia from behind. “Abby, what did you do to him?” he asks.

“Me? Oh. He’s just knocked out. Little trick I learnt and I’ve been wanting to try it out.” She looks very pleased with herself.

“Since when are you a witch?” he asks. She shrugs.

“I hadn’t even thought about that. Hmm. I _am_ a witch, aren’t I?”

The last person in the world Stiles would have ever guessed to be involved in supernatural stuff was Abigail Richardson. She’d had a Pokémon themed party at the skating rink, for crying out loud.  She’s still smiling that far-off dreamy smile, while she twirls the end of her side ponytail. She blinks out of her reverie and walks over to Derek and Stiles, then crouches down, balancing the book on her knees. She looks down at Derek.

“Your friend is scary looking,” she observes. Stiles snorts.

“He’s not my friend – “

“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed you were friends.” She looks up at Stiles and cocks her head to the side, “You don’t really have any friends other than Scott, though, right?” She’s still smiling, but that doesn’t change what she said. Ow. Ego.

“I have friends,” he protests. She nods. _We used to be friends_ , lingers on the tip of Stiles’ tongue.

“Sure, sure. And this guy isn’t one of them?”

“No.” She considers this.

“Is he your dealer? Are you on drugs? You _do_ seem jumpier than you were when we had bio-lab together.”

“He’s not my dealer – I’m not on anything!” She arches a brow at him. “Well, anything _illegal_. And I actually get prescribed Adderall, thank you.”

“If he’s not your friend or your dealer, why are you – “ she stops and then a click in her head is made and she just has a look of realization on her face. “Ohhhhhhhh.” She looks down at Derek again and then up at Stiles a few times. “Wow, he is _really_ good looking. I’m so sorry I knocked out your date.”

“No! That’s not it either! And, wait, you said that he was scary looking!”

“You can be both,” she says like she’s thought about it. “So, if he’s not your dealer, your friend, or your boyfriend, what are you doing with him in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night on a Friday?”

Stiles is frustrated. “We’re here to find you! We’re on a literal witch hunt!”

“You’re hunters?” she looks scared, well, enough to look concerned about it.

“Not that either!” If he had hair, he’d rip it out, because this is why the two of them stopped talking. She makes Scott look less spacey. “He’s a werewolf and I’m his stupid human backup. We’re here to find the witch that’s been hanging out on his land and stop her from going all up in his territory. And now that I’ve told you our plan, I have to take the time to say please, _please_ don’t kill us. I mean, Abby, we used to be friends and – “

“I’m not going to kill you.” She looks at him like the whole idea is absurd. “Just because I’m a witch doesn’t mean I’m a murderer.” She picks up the book and taps the bottom of it on her knees while she thinks. “But I can’t just let you go either.” She opens the book and looks at a page, quickly skimming it before she presses the open book to her chest. “I _am_ going to make it so that you can’t tell anyone about me, though. No one. Not even Scott. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be sorry. I haven’t – I won’t tell anyone anything. I’m great with secrets, and I’ll take yours to my grave, I swear. Abigail, you don’t – Abby, _please_.” He’s desperately rambling, feeling like he’s begging and he really doesn’t care right now. He doesn’t exactly need a spell put on him right now.

She balances the open book on her knees as she waves her hands one around the other, whispering as she does so. Finally, she looks up at Stiles and flicks her fingers at him. And since Stiles hasn’t moved from his spot next to Derek, he watches in horror as the ball of light flies over and hits him in the chest. It settles and it makes his chest feel warm, almost like he has heartburn. Then, the light travels upwards and settles in his throat. It feels like he has to cough, so he does. When he’s done coughing, the warm feeling in his throat is gone.

Abigail watches curiously, shutting her book before she stands up. “Sorry, Stiles. I couldn’t have you going to anyone about me. Especially your Werewolf Boyfriend.” She smiles. “I think you two would make a really cute couple.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest her _boyfriend_ comment. He tries to speak, he really does, but nothing comes out of his throat. A hand flies to his throat and he massages it with the tips of his fingers right along his Adam’s apple. He tries to speak again. And again, nothing comes out.

She looks pleased at her work again, even has the nerve to whisper _yes_ in an excited voice, complete with fist-pump. “Try not to get into too much trouble, now.” She leaves the clearing humming something that sounds a lot like the song Ariel sings in _The_ _Little Mermaid_ when she’s getting her voice taken away, which is _really_ inappropriate right now.

Once she’s out of sight, Stiles gets up and walks over to her campfire, pacing, trying to get his mind to calm down and focus on the fact that he doesn’t have a voice anymore. He kicks a rock from the protective circle she made around the base of the fire.

He hurts his toes.

-

Derek wakes up several hours later surrounded by a rather unpleasant smell – _Scott._ He opens his eyes and hears Scott’s voice from off to the side, “Look who’s coming around! Hey, Derek.” Scott’s face swims into focus, as does the rest of Scott’s room.

Derek grimaces and brings his hands up to massage his forehead. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. “What happened?” he asks. Scott shrugs.

“From what Stiles told me, you both got your asses handed to you.”

“Is he okay?” Derek asks, sitting up fast, almost colliding his head with Scott’s. Scott flinches back right in time. He looks across the room to see Allison sitting in his computer chair, texting someone. She looks up from her phone and leaves it on the desk, walking over to the two of them.

“He’s not injured, but he’s okay. His dad just got home,” Allison says. She and Scott look at each other, worried. Derek feels like he’s missing something. He looks at Scott and arches his eyebrows, waiting.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Well,” Scott squirms, “You’re not the only one who got hexed.” He says it like a child admitting they broke a vase or something.

“What do you mean _hexed_?” Allison and Scott look at each other again. “And why isn’t he here?”

“I took him home since he was freaking out earlier. I have to take his jeep back later tonight, too, since he left it out at the Preserve,” Scott says.

“But he’s perfectly safe, don’t worry,” Allison adds.

Derek moves to get off the bed, but both Scott and Allison stop him. He looks down at their hands on his chest and then looks up at them, a full moment away from ripping their hands off. Scott pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, whereas Allison keeps hers in place.

“We kind of need you to get checked out by Deaton. Since we don’t normally deal with magic, we figured it wouldn’t hurt to call him and make sure you were okay,” Allison winces as she realizes what this sounds like, and it is – they’ve kidnapped him. Derek growls in frustration. “Just to make sure, and then you can run off and do whatever you want to do when he’s done.”

“There’s something you two aren’t telling me,” Derek says. “If I’m going to Deaton’s, you’re going to tell me what she did to Stiles.”

“I promise, you’ll know as much as we do once this is all over.”

Derek grumbles.

-

Stiles wakes up the next morning – well, _day_ , seeing as it’s noon. He wanders downstairs to find his dad on the couch watching television.

“Mornin’ kid,” he says. “I know it’s summer break and all, but can you at least _tell_ me when you’re planning on coming home so late that I actually beat you home?” Stiles wanders on autopilot to the kitchen. His father mutes the television and follows him. He leans against the refrigerator and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Stiles stand in the middle of the kitchen, scrunching his face up in confusion. He’s still got sleep fogging up his brain and has no idea what his dad is talking about.

“When I got home at, I don’t know, five this morning, your jeep wasn’t in the driveway and when I woke up around ten, it was back. Did you have a marathon gaming session with Scott and just forget to text the old man again?” Stiles shakes his head before he digs into the pantry and pulls out a package of poptarts. He hasn’t had a night where he and Scott just played video games since Scott got the bite. He opens the silver foil package and starts to eat one of the poptarts inside.

“You okay, Stiles?” Stiles nods. “You’re normally not this quiet.” He shrugs. His father looks at him for a long moment. “Well, whatever’s gotten into you, just – text me before you plan on staying out all night. I worry about you. I know I don’t have a curfew in place, but that doesn’t mean it’s not common courtesy.”

Stiles swallows the bite of poptart in his mouth and nods at his father.

“Whatever this is,” his father gestures at Stiles. “Silence’ll do you some good. Definitely do _me_ some good. I think the last time it was completely silent in this house while you were home and conscious was when you got your tonsils out when you were six. I think I’ll go revel in some silence that I’m long overdue. At least while it lasts.” He grins at Stiles, who furrows his brows before he rolls his eyes dramatically and shoves another piece of poptart into his mouth. His father laughs and goes back to the living room to watch TV. Stiles takes his second poptart with him back upstairs.

His cellphone is flashing when he gets back to his room. He presses the button on it to wake it up and finds several texts from Scott and two texts and a missed call from Derek.

Scott: _ok so Derek is awake.  
_ Scott: _wz freaking out abt th witch thing  
_ Scott: _got him 2 drop it  
_ Scott: _mite bother u 2moro tho_

Derek: _Scott said that you’d been hexed.  
_ Derek: _Call me back when you get this._

He ignores both sets of texts – Scott because he can handle Derek being annoying and Derek because he can’t exactly nod and shake his head during a phone conversation. If it’s important enough, he knows Derek will end up in his room at some point, probably to yell at him like he always does.

He tosses his phone onto his bed and heads for the bathroom, hoping to god that Derek’s not creeping in his room when he gets back.

-

He comes back to his room in just a towel and finds no one waiting for him. He sighs in relief before he dresses and heads back to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He comes back from the bathroom the second time to find Derek sitting on the windowsill, waiting.

If he could have, Stiles would’ve yelped. Instead, he jumps at least half a foot into the air and rushes into his room to shut the door before his dad comes upstairs and notices Derek Hale sitting in his room. He leans back against the door, trying to calm his heart down.

“Glad to see you’re all in one piece,” Derek says angrily. “The way Scott was talking it sounded like you were missing a limb. But, you’re all in one piece. Which is good, because now I can rip you apart myself.” He crosses the room rather quickly and presses Stiles into the door. Stiles grimaces and sighs as the back of his head hits wood. “I told you to stay put and to stay down and out of sight if it went poorly. I _told_ you, Stiles. And instead you went and got yourself hexed. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Stiles looks up at Derek, as if to say _really?_ Derek glares at him, waiting. Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Derek takes a step back, looking at Stiles closely. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles shakes his head a little and he gestures with his hands a little with a shrug. If he could say anything, it would something incredibly rude, condescending, and snarky – like usual, but probably along the lines of “Come on. All of the pieces are in front of you – figure it out.”

There is a definite click, almost as if he can actually see the light bulb in Derek’s head come on. His anger just kind of dissipates and he actually looks amused. Oh my god, Derek is trying _not_ to smile – this is a huge moment –

“Are you a Disney princess?” he asks after finally giving in and laughing. Stiles sighs and glares at him. God, Derek really is the _worst_. “I can’t decide whether to go and find her and thank her or what. Did she do this because you tried to talk yourself out of getting hurt? Or were you just being yourself?”

Stiles pushes past Derek and heads for his computer chair and sits down, ignoring Derek as he continues to laugh. He turns his computer on and spins in his chair to look at Derek while it boots up. Derek’s stopped laughing, but he still looks amused. Asshole.

“So, how long is the world going to be blessed with this fantastic new development?” Stiles can feel this sighing and glaring at people becoming a trend. He shrugs. “Is it permanent?” Another shrug. “Do you know _anything_?” He flips Derek off. Derek chuckles to himself. God, he’s so tickled about this. Of course he is, because he is Derek Hale and Derek is evil and never wants Stiles to be happy ever. He _would_ think this was hilarious, because he is a sadist. And when Stiles gets his voice back, he’s definitely going to talk Derek’s ear off.

“So, Scott wants me to drag you off to see Deaton at some point today,” Derek says. He’s calmed down, back to being his glaring self. Stiles turns around and starts clicking things on his computer, opening a browser to get on Facebook and opening a word document and opening iTunes. When the word document loads, he ups the font so it’s huge enough for Derek to see across the room even without his super-vision.

 _I’m not going anywhere with you,_ he types out.

“Yes, you are. You don’t have a choice.”

_That is kidnapping a minor, dude._

He clicks out of the document and starts scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed, liking random pictures of his classmates and skimming people’s boring summer plan statuses. Derek steps over to Stiles and is hovering a little behind him.

“Stiles, we have to at least let him make sure that this isn’t _permanent_.”

Back to the word document he clicks, _I don’t want to_.

Derek furrows his brows. “Why?”

Stiles sighs. _What if it is permanent?_ He looks up at Derek, worried. Derek’s face softens a little.

“We can’t know for sure until you go see Deaton.”

Stiles sighs again and hangs his head in defeat. Dammit.

-

They meet Scott and Deaton at Deaton’s office. They walk into the front door and hear Scott call from the back for them to just head on back. Derek leads while Stiles follows behind glumly, feeling like he’s being led to his own execution.

“I don’t know how much this will help, but let’s have a look.” Deaton gestures to the metal topped table in the center of the room. Stiles hops up on it with ease and kicks his feet out as they dangle to the floor. Deaton walks over to the counter across from Stiles and starts to ready everything: a bottle something with a long nozzle to spray, an IV needle and tube, a bag of clear liquid, and a long black tube looking thing that is attached to a monitor on a cart standing off to the side. Stiles looks apprehensive at the black tube, leaning away from Deaton, face closed off completely.

Scott looks over at what has Stiles spooked, then back at his friend. “It’s just a camera, Stiles. It can’t hurt you.”

“He’s right, Stiles. If anything, it’s going to be just uncomfortable, but I’m going to numb the back of your throat so you’ll hardly feel a thing.” Deaton is so at ease – and, Jesus fucking Christ, so is Scott – he’s been around him too long. “You will need to remain calm.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. _Calm_? _You’re going to shove a camera down my throat to look and see if that stupid airhead as permanently muted me! How can I remain calm?_ His brain is working a mile a minute, his heart rate rising. Scott and Derek both tense and Scott turns to Deaton.

“You’re going to have to knock him out to do this,” he says. Deaton shakes his head.

“No, I have a better idea. I planned on something like this happening.” He turns around to the counter and grabs the IV needle and the bag of clear fluid. He then holds out his hand for Stiles’ arm, which he hesitantly gives. Deaton sticks Stiles with the IV needle and then connects the bag of fluid to it. He then hangs the bag up on a clip-pole that Scott has wheeled over from across the room.

“What’s in the – “ Derek begins to ask, watching Stiles as his face starts to slacken.

“Valium,” Deaton says casually. Derek snorts. “Stiles, open your mouth.” Stiles obliges slowly. Deaton then takes the spray bottle and sprays the contents into the back of Stiles’ throat. He makes a face and sticks out his tongue, like whatever Deaton just sprayed tasted awful. Then Deaton walks over to pick up the black tube-camera. He picks it up and turns back to Stiles, who looks calmer than before, like he could doze off sitting up. “I need you to lie down on your back, Stiles. This won’t take long.”

Stiles lies down on his back, feeling relaxed and, actually, really spacey. Like there’s cobwebs in his head. Also, the back of his throat is numb, so it kind of feels like a big wad of cotton is in the back of his throat. He’s barely aware of Deaton and his camera, even when Deaton instructs him to open his mouth and he can faintly feel the cold plastic tube go into his throat.

He’s only partially paying attention when Deaton turns to the monitor as he’s still sliding the tube into Stiles’ throat. He suddenly stops and nods at the screen.

“Okay, everything looks fine,” Deaton says. Scott and Derek take a step forward, towards the monitor, to have a better look.

“What’re we looking at?” Scott asks. He’s wincing at the image onscreen. “It’s kind of gross.”

“This is where your voice comes from, Scott,” Deaton explains. “This part here,” he gestures to the screen, to the open hole in the center. “These two membranes here are your vocal folds. They are open for air to flow through while you’re silent and breathing. And when you speak, they go taut over the larynx here,” he gestures to beneath the folds, “and vibrate to make a sound.”

“So, if everything looks okay, why can’t he speak?” Derek asks.

“I said it _looks_ okay. I never said it _was_ okay,” Deaton says. “Stiles,” he touches Stiles’ shoulder. He inhales sharply through his nose, as if he’d been dozing. “You can’t speak with this in your throat, but I want you to make a sound. Any will do.”

Stiles nods and inhales through his nose again and attempts to hum. The three others turn and look at the monitor, watching as what Deaton described earlier happens. The two folds that were once open are now pulled together and the camera jiggles a little as the folds vibrate. No sound comes out.

“Okay, Stiles, that’s enough. Thank you.” Stiles stops and the folds go back the way they were before, open and stationary. “Interesting,” Deaton says.

“How?” Scott asks.

“It seems Stiles’ vocal folds are working just fine. It’s as if someone has hit the mute button on them rather than them not working at all.”

“So, she just muted him. Can we un _-_ mute him?” Derek asks. Deaton starts to slowly pull the camera out of Stiles’ throat and then out of his mouth. Stiles dozes lightly.

“That’s the downside to magic, I’m afraid. Spells, once cast, cannot be undone. A completely unrelated spell would have to work to try and fix anything, like a magic loophole, but what’s done is done, I’m afraid. If she attached a cure on the spell, then you would have to break it, but that could range from a lot of things. Your best bet is to find the witch that did this and ask her if she intended it to be permanent. Otherwise, I’m afraid Mr. Stilinski will have to get used to never speaking again. I wish I could be of more help to you. You can take him home whenever you’re ready and make sure to call me if something goes wrong.” He nods at the two boys before he takes his leave back to his office. Derek and Scott look at each other.

“I have to finish up my shift and then I’ll take him home,” Scott says. Derek shakes his head.

“No, I’ll do it.”

They look down at Stiles, who’s fast asleep. “He’s not going to like what Deaton found.”

“No,” Derek agrees, “He’s not.”

“Can you remember anything about the girl? Anything at all?”

“No. I told you yesterday, I can’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott holds his hands up in defeat. “We just _have_ to find her. Stiles depends on it.” Derek snorts.

“It’s just his voice, Scott. It’s not like his life depends on it. Lots of people are mute.”

“It’s _Stiles_ , though,” Scott says like that changes anything. “Derek, if it was one of us in this situation, you know he would try everything he could to fix it.” Derek sighs.

“I know. You’re right.” Scott looks pretty pleased at hearing that. “I’m going to take him home and make sure he’s okay.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Derek, I’d say you were worried.” Scott’s smiling, but he looks worried as well.

“It’s my fault that this happened,” Derek says. “So, I’ve got to make it right.” He reaches out and grabs Stiles and pulls him into his arms and then carries the unconscious teenager out to his car.

-

Stiles awakens in his bedroom in the dark. His throat aches a little like he’s been screaming all night, and he’s hungry. He rolls over to look at his alarm clock and sees that it’s four minutes ‘til three o’clock. He’s slept the afternoon and the evening away. He gets up and throws the covers off, finding he’s still dressed in his clothes from earlier. Huh.

He gets out of bed and stretches before he reaches out to the nightstand and grabs his cellphone. He doesn’t have any missed calls or texts – that’s kind of odd, too. By the light of his phone, he looks up around his room – something doesn’t feel right, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. This happens way too much.

Derek is sitting in his computer chair, arms crossed over his chest, cheek resting on his shoulder. God, he even looks grumpy in his sleep, Stiles thinks. How long has Derek been sleeping in his room? Wait, that’s the wrong question to ask. The right question is, _why_ is Derek sleeping in his room?

He doesn’t want to wake him. He really doesn’t want to wake him. God, if he wakes him up, and if Derek thinks about it, he could kill him if he wanted to; waking Derek up is enough incentive for him to do so.

But he also doesn’t really want him sleeping in his room anymore. It’s just – geeze, why is he here in the first place? Stiles sighs and runs a hand over his hair. Then, he makes a decision and turns on his bedside lamp.

Derek stirs, but doesn’t wake. Stiles squints against the light and walks around his bed and over to his desk where Derek is sleeping. He stands awkwardly in front of Derek, staring at the sleeping man before him.

Does he touch him? What if Derek doesn’t want to be touched? He can’t speak, otherwise he’d call out to him to wake up. He could go cause a ruckus or something equally disruptive, but his dad is home by now and he’d hear the noise and come investigate and then Stiles would have to attempt to explain via pantomime why there’s an exonerated murderer sleeping in his computer chair in the first place – and he doesn’t even know that much yet.

Stiles sighs and reaches out and places a hand on Derek’s shoulder. He shakes him a little.

Derek’s eyes shoot open and he awakens with a sharp inhale through his nose. He tenses under Stiles’ hand – which Stiles drops and backs away from Derek almost instantly. He sits on the end of his bed, watching him as he wakes up further, stretching.

If he could speak, Stiles would be asking, _what are you doing here? What happened at Deaton’s?_ but he can’t. The silence is deafening and it makes Stiles uncomfortable. He fiddles with his phone for something to do.

Finally, Derek speaks. “I’m supposed to tell you that Deaton didn’t find anything wrong with you.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow. Derek sighs.

“Everything is working fine; you just aren’t making any noise, like you’re on mute.”

Stiles starts to try to speak, mouth moving fast as he silently protests. Derek stares at him, confused. With an angry huff, Stiles picks up his phone and start to text. He finishes and then holds his phone out for Derek to read.

_Then find a way to un-mute me._

“Deaton doesn’t think we can without the witch girl.” Stiles turns his phone back to himself and types some more.

_What do you mean?_

Derek looks like he’s a loss for words. Stiles adds something else.

_Derek, is this permanent?_

He holds his breath in anticipation as Derek thinks about what to say before he looks up and catches Stiles’ gaze. He looks upset, like he’s feeling guilty, and yeah, he _should_.

“I don’t know,” Derek says honestly. The tone in his voice makes Stiles uncomfortable. “Deaton says that we have to find the girl and if we can’t, we’re – _you’re_ – fucked.”

Stiles looks down at his phone like it suddenly has all the answers – he’s avoiding Derek’s guilty eyes. Because, yeah, if Derek’s feeling guilty about this, Stiles should feel guilty about Scott’s “furry little problem.” Finally, he types out something and slowly hands Derek his cellphone.

_What am I supposed to do? What /can/ I do?_

Derek looks up from the phone to look at Stiles, who just looks like the physical embodiment of all things helpless and hopeless – at least, that’s how Stiles feels he looks. Derek hands him his cellphone before he hesitantly reaches out and places a hand on Stiles’ knee. Stiles stares down at it, confused, before he forces himself to look up at Derek. Derek doesn’t move his hand, on the contrary, he gives Stiles’ knee a reassuring squeeze.

“Stiles, we will figure this out. _I_ will figure this out. Don’t worry, okay. I will figure everything out and you’ll be back to annoying the shit out of me in no time.” He’s grinning. Stiles finds himself smiling too, though he rolls his eyes for good measure.

He doesn’t doubt Derek for a second. He actually feels better about everything, now. And isn’t _that_ a scary thought, that he’s putting his faith in Derek, who he usually can’t rely on for anything other than showing up in his room with really weird requests and abusing him.

Stiles offers for Derek to join him in watching something on Netflix to break the tension from earlier. And then he falls asleep to Derek’s commentary and snickering at _American Dad_.

-

Stiles wakes up around midday again on Sunday to an empty room. He wanders downstairs to find his dad already gone for the day. He hops up on the counter in the kitchen while he eats a poptart. There’s a note on the fridge in his father’s scrawling handwriting. He slides off the counter, mouth full of poptart, and walks over to read the note.

It’s asking for Stiles to clean the house today, which, normally Stiles would groan and huff and grumble about _chores_ – being a kid is _the worst_ – but today he just finishes his poptarts and starts loading dishes into the dishwasher.

He cleans, but not thoroughly, just enough for him to argue that he’d done _something_. He shoots Scott a few texts, asking if he wants to come over later, if he’s not being Allison’s shadow again. Their whole on-again-off-again relationship makes his head hurt and he really doesn’t want to dwell on it right now while he’s doing a half-assed job at dusting the living room. Actually, he doesn’t want to dwell on it ever.

Scott texts back saying that, yes, he’ll come hang out with Stiles tonight. He’s done “cleaning” his house – it looks the same, honestly, and he runs to shower.

Scott shows up with a bag of miniature Reeses and drops the bag into Stiles’ lap when he walks into his room about an hour later. Stiles grins and happily and wordlessly thanks him before Scott plops into a gamer chair in front of Stiles’ flat screen TV. Stiles tosses him a controller before he joins him in the second chair. He starts unwrapping the mini-Reeses and eating them while they key mash past the opening screen of Call of Duty.

“Dude, it has been too long since we did something like this,” Scott says as they play. He tears his eyes away from the screen to look over at Stiles for a brief second. “I missed hanging out with you.”

 _I haven’t left_ , Stiles wants to say. He sits silently, considering just key mashing until one of them dies like they usually do. That or they’re going to do the whole ‘serious-business-talk-about-feelings-while-they-play-videogames’ thing they haven’t done since Scott became a werewolf because, honestly, they’ve had to deal with things head on.

They play a few more levels in silence aside from Scott’s occasional comments at the game. They’re at a load screen when Scott finally turns to Stiles and says “I’m sorry.”

Stiles cocks his head to the side and looks confused. _What for?_

“I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this. This was something that happened to just me and I got you involved. You got hexed and it’s my fault ‘cause if I hadn’t gotten bit you and Derek wouldn’t even be interacting and you would’t’ve gotten a call in the middle of the night and roped into going and helping. So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re caught up in all of this and I’m trying to tell you, I guess, that you don’t have to help anymore if you don’t want to.”

The load screen is gone and they’re looking at a game play screen. Scott stops talking and starts to move his character and starts shooting at things. Stiles is still at their start-check point. He sets his controller in his lap after he presses pause on the game and picks his cellphone off the floor.

 _Are you telling me not to help or do you not /want/ me to help, because this sounds like you’re telling me what to do._ He sends the text and waits. Scott sighs and picks up his phone and reads Stiles’ text.

“Both,” Scott says after a moment. Stiles doesn’t say anything – doesn’t text anything. He’s staring at Scott in disbelief. Scott scrambles.

“We’re going to break this hex, or whatever it is, on you, I promise. But I don’t want you to get hurt anymore and I _definitely_ don’t want you to go with us when we go looking for her.”

Stiles snots and texts him again, _What about Allison?_

Scott squirms. “That’s different. She’s got her crossbow and stuff and can fight for herself and – “

Stiles scoffs and laughs before he texts again. He’s hurt, completely and utterly hurt. _I think you should go_.

“What? Why?”

Stiles can’t look at Scott. He knows once he does he’s going to see that kicked puppy look Scott has perfected over the years – the one he gets when he’s upset and doesn’t get the reaction he wants.

“Stiles, I – “ Stiles looks down at his lap, a frustrated lump growing in his throat. He’s not going to cry. He’s not.

“Okay.” Scott gets up and leaves Stiles’ room. When he hears the front door shut, Stiles throws his controller against the wall and doesn’t care if something breaks off of it.

He spends the next hour and a half ignoring his phone as it pings with new messages. They’re probably all from Scott, trying to apologize. He even turns his phone off to completely ignore it. He does some of his summer homework – or attempts to. He’s still so frustrated he can’t think straight. Finally, he just plops onto his bed and turns on _Doctor Who_ on Netflix. He settles against the headboard, the laptop on his lap, eating Reeses. (Just because they were given in pity doesn’t mean they’re any less good.)

Halfway through one episode, Derek shows up through the window. Stiles doesn’t even look up at him, just continues to watch his laptop. He’s pouting, and why shouldn’t he? His feelings are hurt.

“Is there a reason you’re not answering your phone?” Derek asks. He almost sounds concerned. Stiles finally looks up to see some semblance of worry on Derek’s face. Odd.

He picks up his cellphone, forgetting that he had turned it off. _Oh, yeah_. He turns it back on and then drops it to his lap.

Derek looks around the room, eyes lingering on the xbox controller on the floor in pieces. Stiles can feel him staring at him and squirms a little. He throws a Reeses at him for something to do. It hits Derek square in the stomach and then falls to the carpet below. Derek stares at the candy on the floor and then arches a brow at Stiles before he bends down to pick it up and then sits down next to him on the bed.

They sit in silence watching the rest of the episode Stiles is up to. When it’s over, he lets the next one load on Auto-Play, and ironically it’s the one with the werewolf in Scotland. If it was any other time, Stiles would’ve laughed, but even now, his mood is so low he doesn’t even smile.

They keep watching, both of them periodically eating Reeses. Stiles grabs his phone off the mattress next to him and texts Derek during the theme song. He watches the screen, though he can see Derek in his peripheral vision, and holds onto his phone tight in his lap as Derek reads the text.

_Did Scott send you?_

Derek shakes his head. “No,” he says aloud. Stiles exhales slowly. _Good_. “You know, Stiles,” Derek begins slowly, “Scott _is_ just trying to help. He’s trying to keep you safe.”

 _I thought you said Scott didn’t send you_ , Stiles wants to text. Instead, he watches as the Doctor flirts, laughs, and talks excitedly with a blonde woman on-screen. A few minutes pass in silence before Stiles wakes his phone up and starts texting rather fast. Derek’s phone buzzes and Stiles drops his phone to his lap again.

_Staring at me like a lost puppy isn’t helping. Neither is benching me when you know you’ll need my help. I’m not broken and I’m not useless. I’m just mute._

He picks his phone up again after he sees Derek’s done reading and sends more.

_I know that if we can’t find her, I’m fucked, and I’ve tried writing down who did this to me so you can find her faster, but I can’t because whenever I do my hand doesn’t move right and god, this is so frustrating._

He feels like he’s going to cry. No. He’s going to cry in front of Derek. No-no-no-no-no. this is _not_ okay. Derek’s going to make fun of him and he’ll never hear the end of it. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, but his eyes are already welling up with angry, frustrated tears and he’s swallowing around a lump in his throat. Goddammit, if Derek makes fun of him for this, Stiles will _definitely_ talk his ear off when he gets his voice back.

No, _if_ he gets his voice back. Fuck, that just makes it worse.

He lets out a silent sob and blinks. Tears slide down his cheeks as they turn pink and hot in embarrassment.

Stiles can see Derek looking at him while he wipes at his face with his fingertips, trying not to cry any more than he already is. He sniffles against a runny nose and feels absolutely pathetic. He sets the laptop on the mattress, climbs off the bed, and walks out of his bedroom. He goes to the bathroom to blow his nose and to, hopefully, stop crying. He looks at his pink face in the mirror and glares at himself before he dries his face with a wad of toilet paper. He blows his nose and then forces himself to smile, even though he doesn’t want to. He goes back to his room with dry, red eyes.

 _Sorry_ , he mouths. Derek doesn’t say anything, just looks over at him, his mouth a firm line. He looks worried. Well, actually, he looks like he usually does, only instead of the constant state of annoyed he’s usually in around him, Stiles thinks he can see a little bit of worry instead. Stiles awkwardly looks away from Derek to his laptop to see that the video has been paused, and he does manage to smile at that. _Of course_ Derek paused it.

He settles back in on the bed and presses play. They watch as the Doctor licks the wall of the library and tries to fight off a werewolf singlehandedly. “It’s okay to be mad at Scott and it’s okay to be mad at me, too.” Derek says quietly.

Stiles turns and looks at Derek, confused. Is he trying to help him feel better? Oh god. _What_?

“But,” Derek hesitates, thinking. “It’s okay for you to be mad at what happened to you and it’s okay for you to want to be upset about it because as much as we keep saying that we’re going to figure this out, there’s a strong possibility that we won’t. And we need to be ready for that. _You_ need to be ready for that.”

Stiles blinks. That certainly doesn’t make him feel better. At all. But, Derek’s got a point.  As much as both he and Scott are at fault for getting Stiles’ hopes up about finding a cure for this, Stiles knows he’s just as at fault for believing them.

He’s got to start letting go – got to start grieving his own loss.

And isn’t _that_ a cheery thought.

It’s such a sad thought that he, honestly, should be crying about that. After all, if this stays permanent, he’ll never be able to speak again. And as much as he abused his voice, he liked talking – he never thought he’d miss it. He can’t force himself to cry about it, but it leaves him with this melancholy feeling in his chest that he can’t explain.

He goes back to the episode of _Doctor Who_ , watching with renewed interest. Paying attention to the episode is a lot easier than coming to terms with his muteness.

If he and Derek are sitting close enough for their shoulders and legs to touch by the end of night, Stiles doesn’t point it out. He also doesn’t mind that Derek keeps eating his Reeses, which he figures is a good tradeoff for Stiles to fall asleep on Derek’s shoulder a few episodes from the werewolf one. While the next episode loads, Derek turns and looks at Stiles with an arched eyebrow.

“That episode was awful,” he says, “And incredibly inaccurate.”

Stiles throws another Reeses at him.

-

Stiles wakes up alone again on Monday. The melancholy feeling is still there, unfortunately. He wakes up to his phone flashing and a text from Scott.

Scott: _I’m sorry_.

He’s not going to reply any time soon – he hasn’t forgiven him for benching him just yet. Actually, he doesn’t want to text anyone. He just wants to spend the day in his room watching Netflix and doing his summer homework he’s been putting off.

He does about half of his summer reading, in between article jumping on Wikipedia and scrolling through tumblr and imgur. He checks Facebook – creeps on Abigail’s page to see if there’s anything that obviously connects her to magic. He eventually ends up googling “How to Break a Magic Curse/Spell Losing Voice” and _The Little Mermaid_ pops up – which means a kiss would break the spell. Now he has to find someone to kiss, and to be honest, everyone he can think of would be incredibly awkward. He ends up watching Netflix and falling asleep early after marathoning the rest of _American Dad_.

Tuesday, he wakes up early – before noon – and can hear his dad moving around downstairs. He is about to go down and wave at him, do _something_ to show that he’s not dead, when his phone on his bedside table starts to ring. He unplugs it from the charger and holds it in his hand, staring down at the contact picture that’s lit up on the screen.

It’s Allison, which is weird because she almost never calls him. But he also can’t exactly answer the phone right now. What would he do, just make a lot of background noise? He could always boot up his computer and try to get the text to speak work – which would just turn into him making his computer say curse words and dick jokes because he’s actually a twelve year old posing as a seventeen year old. Instead, he tosses his phone to his bed, letting his voicemail pick it up, and heads downstairs to grab something to eat. He waves at his dad, grabs a package of poptarts and starts to eat them as he heads back upstairs.

His phone is flashing when he comes back to his room. He takes a bite of poptart while he scrolls through and sees a missed call, a voicemail, and three texts from Allison. He listens to the voicemail, which is her getting the beep and then “Oh, yeah! Sorry!” and then he reads her texts.

 _Allison: are you at home right now?_  
Allison: please tell me you are.  
Allison: omg, Stiles, this is super important.

He texts back a _Yeah, what’s up?_ before he finishes his poptarts and goes off to brush his teeth. He walks back into his room a few minutes later, plops in his computer chair and turns the laptop on. He spins around in his computer chair until he’s dizzy, only stopping when he sees a figure in the doorway. He stops spinning; blinking through his dizziness and notices it’s Allison. She crosses his room, looking determined, and before he can open his lips to mouth something or reach for his cellphone, she’s kissing him.

He pulls away from her, wide-eyed, staring at her like she’s lost her mind. She’s smiling and looks hopeful. “Did it work?” she asks. He finally overcomes his shock and just arches a brow at her. “Did it work? Did the kiss work? Can you talk?”

Nice to know he’s not the only person thinking like that, but still – his _best friend’s girlfriend_ just kissed him. He shakes his head. She groans.

“You haven’t even _tried_ , Stiles!” she sighs.

 _What the fuck, Allison_?, he mouths at her. She groans again and plops on the edge of his bed angrily.

“I thought that’d work!” she whines. He nods. Well, there went _that_ idea. “I heard about you and Scott,” she says after a few moments. He sighs and turns back towards his laptop. “I know you’re hurt – I would be too – but you know he only said those things because he was looking out for you. He doesn’t think of you as weak – just human.” He turns back to face her.

 _But_ you’re _human,_ he mouths, liking the fact that Allison can read lips. She smiles sadly.

“Stiles, you know what I mean. Yes, I’m human, but you know my parents – “

 _My dad’s the sheriff!_ She arches a brow.

“And how many times in the past six months has he taken you to the range so you could practice shooting?” He stares at her, matching her gaze before he breaks it and hangs his head in defeat. “So, then there’s a huge risk of you getting hurt and Scott can’t protect you all the time. You have to be ready. I can teach you how to shoot if you want – “ He shakes his head. The thought of holding a gun just makes him queasy. Knowing his luck, Stiles would shoot himself in the foot.

“Well, then, you can’t get upset when you get asked to stay behind.” Stiles knows she’s right, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He turns back to his laptop and opens a word document.

_I don’t want to be left behind, though. What if something bad happens?_

She stands up and pulls him in for a backwards hug, her chin resting on his shoulder.

They end up hanging out all day, which is nice. She’s actually kind of a great person when she’s not just Scott’s girlfriend, he finds. They have similar tastes in movies, which they find out about when they trek downstairs to find something to eat and watch. Stiles can see his dad smiling at them from the couch while they pick out a movie and kind of excitedly flail about because Allison picked _Balto_. They rush back upstairs to watch it in his room like a couple of children.

The movie finishes and they head back downstairs for another. His dad is about to step out to check on something at work – because he interrupts them arguing over whether or not they should watch _The Little Mermaid_. Stiles is just shaking his head and glaring at her while she nods and laughs as she grabs it off the shelf. He grabs _Cats Don’t Dance_ as well before his dad tells them to stay out of trouble. If he’s bothered by Stiles not speaking, he doesn’t say anything.

They’re halfway through _The Little Mermaid_ (Allison’s puppy dog face is worse than Scott’s), when they hear someone come in the house and head up the stairs in loud thumps. Stiles recognizes that stomping anywhere and goes to pause the movie when Scott enters the room.

“Stiles, I know we’re fighting right now and you’re mad at me and you _should_ be, but I just thought of something and you just _have_ to let me try it, okay. I don’t _really_ want to do this, but we have to try _everything_. Hi, Allison.”

Stiles looks up at Scott confused. Allison looks between Scott and Stiles, amused.

“Scott?” she asks.

“Allison, you’d do anything to break a spell, right? Other than killing someone, right?”

“Yeah, but – “

“So, I have to try this.”

“Okay. What are – “

Scott steps forward and grabs either side of Stiles’ face and kisses him. Allison laughs.

It’s over almost as quick as it began, with Scott apologizing and looking pained and upset while Stiles rushes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Allison is still laughing, holding her stomach.

“I hope it worked – “

“We tried that earlier. It didn’t with me. I don’t think it will with you, either, Scott.”

“It was worth a shot, though, right?”

“Of course it was. And Stiles knows you were just trying to help.”

Stiles walks back into his room smelling of toothpaste and Listerine. _Don’t ever do that again_ , he mouths. Scott nods, the beginnings of a smile on his face. But it’s not funny to Stiles yet, no. _I mean, I love you, dude, but no._

“I tried.” Scott shrugs. He plops onto Stiles’ bed next to Allison and they finish the movie before they send Scott down to pick one. He comes back with _The Lion King_. Once the disc is in the xbox, Scott turns to look at Stiles. “Are we good?” he asks. Stiles nods. “Good. I was tired of you being mad at me.”

_You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?_

Scott smirks at Stiles, who smirks back before he hits play.

They watch two more movies, pause between them to go and make popcorn, which they end up just throwing at each other halfway through their last movie. That’s when Allison decides they should probably leave before they make any more of a mess. 

“This was fun,” she says as Stiles walks them to the front door. He nods in agreement before she hugs him. Scott grins at him.

“Sorry about earlier,” he says again, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. Stiles shrugs it off.

 _Don’t worry about it. I’ll just need therapy for the rest of my life_ , he mouths. Scott looks confused until Allison tells him what Stiles said and he just rolls his eyes.

“Jackass,” he says with a laugh. They leave after that, leaving Stiles to an empty house.

He goes back upstairs and vacuums up the mess they made – how the hell did it get in his closet with the door shut? – before he falls asleep curled up around his laptop while he watches Netflix.

-

Around three in the morning, he wakes up to his cellphone pinging. He rolls over and grabs it to see he’s got a text from Derek.

_Derek: get to the Preserve ASAP._

Stiles whines sleepily, or he would if he could. He unplugs his phone from the charger and types back a _Why?_ Before he settles back into his pillows, hoping he can catch the last part of that dream he was having.

His phone buzzes again and he huffs into his pillow before he reaches over and grabs his phone and reads, squinting against the bright screen.

_Derek: because the smell is back._

_What smell?_ God, Stiles is too asleep for this. He doesn’t put phone on the table again this time, instead, he sets it on the pillow beside him.

_Derek: the witch is back, Stiles. Get here. Now._

Stiles fights with his bed sheets, tangling himself up enough that he unmakes his bed and pulling the top sheet and the comforter off the bed. He catches his laptop before it hits the floor and sets it on the nightstand beside him. He finally kicks free and rolls out of bed, dresses haphazardly, and runs downstairs to grab his keys. He scribbles a note to his dad and leaves it on the fridge, telling him that he’s going to be out with Scott all night. He then runs out of the house, tosses his cellphone into the passenger seat, and drives off towards the Preserve a lot faster than he should.

He can feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he sits at a stoplight, bouncing his left knee up and down nervously.

He could get his voice back in the next thirty minutes. If he does, he’s going to sing along, badly, to whatever is on the radio on the way home – and then some. He might never be quiet again, just out of relief.

He gets to the Preserve in about fifteen minutes – when it usually takes him at least twenty – _speeding, ooops_ – to find that he’s not the only person Derek called. As soon as he parks the Jeep, Scott hops off the porch of the Hale house and walks towards him.

“No. Go back home,” Scott says, pointing to the road. Stiles furrows his brows.

_Why?_

“Stiles, we don’t know if she’s dangerous and she could hurt you again. I _really_ don’t want that.”

Stiles shakes his head at Scott and then looks over at Derek, who’s walking over, hoping he’ll explain to Scott why he was invited in the first place. Especially since Derek is the one who demanded he come with them.

“It’s okay, Scott,” Derek says, finally reaching them, Allison trailing behind him, her bow hanging over her shoulder.

“No, Derek, it isn’t. What if he gets hurt?”

“He isn’t your problem tonight,” Derek says. Stiles snorts. Thanks for the confidence, Derek. He isn’t a problem _ever_ , thank you very much. “I’ll make sure he’s okay. You just focus on being _my_ back up, okay?”

Scott doesn’t look too excited about this, but he says nothing. He looks between Stiles and Derek, confused, before he huffs and sighs a ‘whatever’.

“Hopefully when this is all over, you’ll be back to being your old self again,” Allison says with an encouraging smile to Stiles. Stiles smiles back but he can’t shake the feeling of dread that’s suddenly come over him.

What if it doesn’t work? He huffs.

-

They head off into the forest, Scott and Allison leading. Scott’s got his nose in the air, reminding Stiles of a dog, and honestly, this isn’t the best time for him to be laughing about this, and Allison has an arrow set and ready to fire.

Stiles is following behind Allison, with Derek bringing up the rear. He feels weird, like someone is watching him, and technically, someone is. He turns and looks back at Derek a few times while they walk towards the Weird Witch Smell that Stiles can’t smell with his puny human nose. Derek merely gives him a look that basically says _what? Turn around_ without actually speaking or gesturing with his hands.

There are a few times where Scott has to stop walking and sniff a little deeper, and then they change directions, but they don’t encounter anyone or anything on their trek through the woods.

After what feels like an hour and Stiles’ adrenaline is almost completely gone and he’s dog-tired, he notices an orange glow peeking through the trees just like a half a week before. He stops and points and Derek follows his hand and nods before he hisses quietly, “Scott!”

Scott stops and turns, as does Allison. He looks over in the direction that Stiles and Derek are looking and nods. They head towards the campfire, Stiles getting a feeling of déjà vu.

They get closer to the clearing with the campfire and Derek reaches out and grabs Stiles by the back of his shirt. Stiles flails, but rights himself quickly. He glares at Derek, who glares back before he mimes for Stiles to be quiet. Stiles arches a brow at him because _fucking really_? before Derek walks forward, Scott at his side, and they enter the clearing.

The clearing is empty, save for the campfire. There’s no one around, and it kind of freaks Stiles out from behind his tree. He looks over at Allison, who’s acting as a sniper archer or something, some plan Stiles isn’t in on, like usual.

This isn’t going to go well, he thinks.

A crunching noise, like leaves under a boot, catches his attention, as well as everyone else’s. They all look towards the noise, and soon they’re not alone in the clearing.

Abigail comes walking into the clearing, pulling twigs out of her hair. She’s got a messenger bag over her shoulder and dirt on her tights and skirt – she probably fell.

“Abigail?” Scott asks in disbelief. She jumps, looking up and catching sight of both Scott and Derek.

“Scott?” she asks after she’s calmed down. “And you’re the guy who definitely _isn’t_ Stiles’ werewolf boyfriend.”

Derek and Scott look at each other.

“Am I trespassing again? Do you always bring teenagers into the woods? Should I be alerting the police about you? You know Stiles’ dad is a police officer, right - ”

“Abigail, you put a spell on Stiles,” Scott says, interrupting her. She blinks, thinking, and then nods proudly.

“Yes, yes I did. I also put a spell on him,” she points at Derek. “But his was because he scared me.”

“You need to take the spell off of Stiles,” Derek says. She cocks her head to the side.

“What?”

“The spell you put on Stiles. You need to take it off – break it.”

She drops her hands to her sides. “You mean you haven’t broken it yet?”

Stiles takes this as his cute to walk out into the clearing, despite Allison’s hisses for him not to. He walks out and stands, basically, in front of the tree he had been hiding behind. The three in the clearing turn to look at him, both werewolves glaring. The witch smiles and waves.

“Hi, Stiles! And – Allison!” Stiles turns to see Allison walking out cautiously. “Have you not broken your spell yet?” she asks Stiles. Stiles shakes his head and looks over at her expectantly. Abigail stares at them all. “ _Really?”_

“What?” Scott asks.

“Haven’t _any_ of you seen _The Little Mermaid?_ ” she asks.

“We tried that. It didn’t work,” Allison says. Abigail ‘ohhh’s in realization before she giggles and shakes her head as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Then, obviously, the right person hasn’t kissed him yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott asks.

“It has to be a kiss of love, not a kiss of intent-to-break-the-spell. You have to want it.”

“You’re telling me that _The Power of Love_ is going to save him?” Derek doesn’t look impressed. She nods.

“Yep. Well, it can be lust, too. Just. No ulterior motive with it.”

 _This is bullshit!_ Stiles wants to scream. She looks over at him and clicks her tongue.

“ _Language,_ Stiles.”

“So, you’re saying that there’s _nothing_ we can do.” She nods at Allison.

“Find someone who thinks Stiles is the bees-knees,” she suggests with a shrug.

A silence that Stiles wants to grumble and scream himself hoarse out of frustration over falls around them. Derek huffs and nods.

“Okay. Next item of business,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “We can’t have this happen again.”

“Once you figure out the cure for this one, you’ll be able to fix it if it happens again,” Abigail says.

“No, I mean, we can’t have you walk away with the ability to do magic.”

“Derek,” Scott says worriedly, “We can’t _kill_ her.” Derek rolls his eyes.

“I know that.”

“So what’re we gonna do?” Scott asks. Abigail looks scared. Stiles doesn’t know why, though, since she can clearly take Derek down. But he also doesn’t see her spell book with her like last time.

“We can take her to my dad,” Allison says finally. She’s lowered her arrow and is placing it back in the quiver and she shoulders her bow. “He’s a hunter, so he should know how and what to do with someone like her. He won’t kill her, I know, since she hasn’t killed anyone. My dad is all about following the Code and everything.”

 _She hurt me!_ Stiles protests. Allison looks amused.

“Stiles, if I tell my dad what she did to you he’d probably laugh. Especially if I throw in that she could take Derek down, with him being the Alpha and all.” Derek glares at her. Stiles mouths several obscenities that make Allison laugh. She turns to Abigail and smiles sweetly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Abby, but I do need to take you with me so you can meet my father. So we can figure out the next action to take.”

“What do you mean?” Abigail looks apprehensive. “You just said your dad was a hunter – how do you know he won’t hurt me?”

“Because I know my dad,” Allison says with a knowing smile. “He’ll know what to do. Don’t worry.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Scott says. Allison shakes her head.

“Yes, you have a choice.”

“I strongly advise you to take her up on that option,” Derek says gruffly. Abigail nods.

“Just as long as I don’t cast anymore spells on you guys, right?”

“ _Abby,_ ” Scott warns. She nods.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Abigail sighs and smiles at Allison. “Guess I’m going with you, since I don’t want to die.”

“I’ll come too,” Scott says, looking over at Stiles to see if he’s okay. Stiles shrugs. His mind is racing.

If he’s only going to get his voice back when someone _wants_ to kiss him, he’s probably going to be waiting a while. Not to bruise his already pained ego, it’s not like he’s got anyone clamoring to run up, kiss him, and then run away. No, instead, he has a crush on a girl that’s nowhere to be found – well, actually she’s in Europe visiting her grandmother for the summer – but it’s not like Lydia Martin would want to kiss him of her own free will.

It looks like he really will have to tell his dad that he’s mute. He’ll have to think of a good explanation, too. _Fuck_.

“I’m going to stay behind and take care of this,” Derek sighs and gestures to the fire that Abigail lit. The group of teenagers nod and starts making their way back to the cars.

On the way back, Allison confiscates Abigail’s bag, which has her spell book and all of the ingredients to make s’mores.

They get back to their cars and Allison child-locks Abigail into the backseat before she and Scott turn to Stiles.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get your voice back, dude,” Scott says. He looks incredibly disappointed.

Stiles shrugs it off and forces a smile. He points at his jeep and mouths _home_ before he makes a point to yawn animatedly and stretch. He then waves at Scott and Allison, who look at each other with worry on both of their faces.

He drives himself home, throws out the note he’d written his dad, and then heads upstairs.

He walks into his room and plops into his bed, hugging the pillows tight to his face. He’s exhausted, but his mind is still racing. He sighs and crawls out of bed and walks over to his computer desk and sits down. Until he comes up with a decent excuse as to why he’s mute, he can’t sleep. He can’t avoid his dad forever.

He turns on the table lamp and starts up his Pandora after he’s woken his computer up. He doesn’t want to be sitting in the dark alone in silence feeling sorry for himself. He starts looking up common causes for muteness.

He feels like he’s getting nowhere – since there’s no way he can convince his dad he was injured without other evidence of an injury. Maybe he could convince him that stress did it – but he can’t do that without explaining that the said stress was/is from his best friend being turned into a werewolf.

He’s about to just give up and flip over to Netflix again when he hears his window slide up and he turns to see Derek climbing into his bedroom window.

“That was a waste of time. I’m sorry,” Derek begins awkwardly. Stiles nods because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Though, did they really kiss you? I can’t believe Scott let her do that with how attached he is.” Stiles opens a word document after he turns back to his computer and starts typing.

_Scott kissed me, too._

Derek makes a face. “He kissed you?” Stiles nods and shudders, remembering it.

_I don’t want to talk about it. I mean, it was weird. But, they really did mean it when they said they tried everything._

“So, now you’re looking up ways to explain the muteness to your dad,” Derek says. Stiles nods and turns back to his computer.

 _Yep. Though, from the looks of it, it’s going to be a bust –_ he keysmashes as his computer chair turns against his will and he’s stuck with Derek leaning over, hands on the arm rests of the chair, face mere inches from Stiles’. Stiles gulps, eyes wide, as Derek breaks eye contact, sighs, shakes his head a little as if he was arguing within himself, and then just leans in and kisses Stiles.

If he could squeak, he would’ve. In his shock, he mistakes his throat warming up for embarrassed flushing, since he can also feel it in his cheeks.

Derek pulls away, Stiles staring at him. “Dude – “ he whispers in a slightly raspy voice, drawing the word out. There’s a click for the both of them as they realize that – holy shit, Stiles just _spoke_. He grins and cheers. “Fuck _yes!_ Dude, I am back!”

Stiles wants to victory dance, but he can’t, since he’s too busy being blocked in his chair by Derek’s entire body. He smiles at Derek’s incredulous face. “ _Thank you_ for helping me not need an excuse for my dad. Oh, I could sing right now.”

Derek stiffly lets Stiles up out of the chair and the teenager begins to bounce around his room happily. He stops when he sees that Derek still looks shocked.

“Dude, what are you freaking out about?” Derek looks uncomfortable.

“I just figured it was worth a shot. I didn’t actually think it’d work – “

“But, that means that shouldn’t’ve worked if you were just seeing if it’d work. Abby said that it’d only work if the person kissing me _wanted_ to kiss...me…” he looks over at Derek so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.

“You _wanted_ to kiss me, didn’t you? You disguised it as helping me, but you wanted this.”

Derek glares at him. Stiles is grinning.

“Admit it, big guy, you’ve thought about kissing me before.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek, who rolls his eyes. He looks uncomfortable, which isn’t that different from any other time he sees Derek.

He walks over to Derek, closer to him anyways, and smiles at him. “Is this why you push me against walls and stuff? Do you have a thing for me? Oh how the tables have turned, my friend. Instead of being the crush _er_ , you’re the crush _ee_.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“I never get to do stuff like this, ssh. Let me have my moment.” Is this what being Lydia is like? Stiles has to remember to ask her. He feels like he’s got a head rush – drunk with power, comes to mind.

“So, Derek, since you’ve obviously had this long-standing want of kissing me, I have to know, when did it start for you? Was it before or after you wanted me to cut your arm off? Because you pulled me against the table and kind of lunged that one time and I thought, _this is kind of an inappropriate time for this_ , before no, sorry, you just threatened my life again. For someone who wants to kiss me, you sure do show it weirdly.”

Derek huffs. Stiles goes on.

“Or was it when you pushed me against the wall that one time, threatening me _again_ and you kind of lingered on my lips with your angry glare of evil?”

“I’m regretting even _trying_ to help you,” Derek says finally.

“Oh, come on, Derek, enlighten me. When did you first decide you were going to kiss me?”

“When you were babbling so much that I decided to wonder if it would be a good way of shutting you up,” Derek meets his gaze head on in challenge. That makes Stiles’ mouth run dry; he squirms.

“So, how do I explain that the Power of Love didn’t give me my voice back, that the Power of Annoyance did? Because Abby clearly said you had to think I was attractive and that you’d have to _want_ to kiss me – and Scott and Allison heard her – how do I explain it?”

“You don’t have to.”

“But they’ll ask!”

“It’s not their business.” Stiles puts his hands on his hips as he stands in front of Derek, brows furrowed.

“It kind of is!” Derek sighs. Stiles perks up at it. He’s had his voice back for less than thirty minutes and Derek is already completely done with him. “Fine,” Stiles says, thinking of something else. “Admit it, you missed it.”

“What, you talking?”

“The talking, _yes_ , but more of the ability to argue with me. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Admit it! Don’t be ashamed!”

“No, Stiles.”

“Aw, come on!”

“ _No.”_

“Admit it or I start reciting every song out of the Backstreet Boys’ discography as a dramatic reading.”

“I’m not admitting to anything, Stiles. Just shut up.”

Stiles grins wider, “Never. But, you could always make me.”


End file.
